If it wasn’t for Murphy, I wouldn’t have been shivering on Mr. Wonderful’s front doorstep. Well, I might still have been shivering. But I’d have been doing it inside my apartment. I wouldn’t be here. And I certainly would be hoping quite so hard that Mr. Wonderful would answer his door.
 
Murphy let out a small, pitiful chirp. I clutched his cold metal cage tighter against my chest. Maybe Mr. Wonderful wasn’t home right now. Maybe that light in his window didn’t really mean anything. Maybe . . .
 
That’s when the front door opened. I almost didn’t recognize my uber-annoying neighbor; the face that peered out didn’t wear his signature scowl. Instead, he looked – well, sweet and kinda sleepy. Eyes at half-mast and hair poking out in a dozen random directions.
 
Slowly, those eyes narrowed as he glanced from me to the bird cage and back again. “Selling eggs or something?”
 
I pressed my lips together firmly. “This is a parrot, not a chicken. Or can’t you tell the difference?”
 
He harrumphed, that familiar scowl reclaiming his features. He looked like Mr. Wonderful again. The man I loved to hate. All attitude and snark. Which I’d grown fond of returning in kind.
 
“You brought your bird over just to introduce us? Kind of an odd time of night for that, isn’t it?”
 
His gaze shifted up, up, up toward the black, star-spangled sky. Even I had to admit, eleven p.m. was an odd time to come calling. Especially since our only interaction since I’d moved in six months ago had been trading thinly-veiled insults.
 
He’d been the one to start it, I reminded myself, when he caught me returning from grocery shopping that first day. A carnivore’s smirk had crossed his face as he eyed my purchases. “Avoiding protein, are we?”
 
I’d lambasted him with every well-researched factoid at my command about the evils of eating meat. Increased risk of heart disease, cancer, stroke. Not to mention, as I’d smugly pointed out, an elevated risk of constipation.
 
From that day forward, our paths had never crossed without a snarky war of words.
 
“Off to milk the almonds this morning?” he’d crow if he saw me opening my car door.
 
Naturally, I reciprocated in kind. “Decided to give real food a try?” I’d scoffed, once spotting a head of lettuce peeking out of his grocery bag.
 
He’d upped the ante last summer by mowing his lawn clad in T-shirts proclaiming things like, “My food poops on your food” and “Yup, Killing It As a Sexy Carnivore.”
 
Much though I hated to admit it, he had looked darn good in those T-shirts, too. Dang it. But the attitude. The arrogance. The sheer obnoxiousness of it all!! That’s when I began calling him Mr. Wonderful. Not to his face, mind you. But that’s how I secretly thought of him. Which I was doing far too much of, lately.
 
Determined not to stare out my window at Mr. Wonderful’s all-too-sexy bod, I’d launched a custom yard sign campaign proclaiming “Real Men Are Plant Powered.”
 
That had been well over a month ago, and our paths hadn’t crossed since. My “Power” sign was now half-buried in the first major snowfall of the season. But I’d been working hard to come up with another snarky slogan to plaster across my lawn as soon as spring arrived.
 
And now here I was, standing on Mr. Wonderful’s doorstep, with Murphy shivering in his cage.
 
“I really hate to bother you,” I found myself saying, hating the cold-fueled tremor in my voice. “But my power went out several hours ago and it’s positively freezing in my house. I’ve been worried about Murphy in the cold. So I wondered. . .”
 
To my infinite surprise, his signature glare softened. “Well, don’t just stand there. Come in. Come in! We can’t have Murphy go hypothermic, now can we.” Stepping back, he swung the front door open wide.
 
I stepped inside the neat tiled entry, finding myself enveloped by a cloud of warmth. Murphy gave a hoot of approval and fluttered in appreciation.
 
I pushed back the furry hood of my overcoat, grateful that I could no longer see my breath. “This is really kind of you. Murphy won’t be any trouble, I promise. If I can just leave him here with you tonight, I’m sure I can get someone out tomorrow to take a look at my power situation.”
 
He raised a single eyebrow. “You’re planning to leave him here for the night? Where are you going to sleep?”
 
Actually, I hadn’t quite thought that far. The public library had locked its doors hours ago. All the fast-food joints in town were now strictly drive-through. And I was positive nobody ever spent a night at the police station voluntarily.
 
“My car,” I improvised. “I’m pretty sure if I crank up the heat for a bit I won’t turn into an icicle.”
 
He harrumphed again. “Great way to wake up dead,” he said, snagging the handle of Murphys cage and heading down the hall. “You ever heard of carbon monoxide?!”
 
He had me there. Sleeping in my car was looking less like an option. I trailed after him to the kitchen.
 
“I’ll just – I’ll just go home bundle up in a blanket and tough it out. It’s only for one night. I’ll be fine.”
 
“Nonsense. I have a spare guest room. I don’t want your frostbite death on my conscience. Even carnivores have a heart.”
 
I flexed my fingers inside my pockets, all too aware of the blood finally beginning to circulate again. A heated place to sleep tonight held a certain unarguable appeal.
 
“Are you sure?”
 
He gave a firm nod, already fiddling with the latch on Murphy’s cage.
 
“Wait! I wouldn’t open that if I were you.” I rushed forward. “Murphy bites!”
 
“Aww, not to worry. Critters love me.” His hand was already buried deep inside the cage.
 
Blood. The next thing I would see would be blood, and lots of it. I was frantically trying to remember whether the first aid kit in my car included tourniquets when he removed his hand from the cage. . . with Murphy perched contentedly on a finger.
 
“See?” he said, cocking an all-too-smug eyebrow. “Animals love me.” His blue eyes narrowed a tad. “Well, most animals. You, for instance, don’t seem too pleased with me about something.”
 
I inhaled a breath, half blessed relief, half sheer annoyance. “Me? Oh, uh. No, I’m fine. I just was worried. . .”
 
Murphy took that opportunity to stride happily up Mr. Wonderful’s arm and begin to preen his ear. The little feathered traitor.
 
After thoughtfully fashioning a temporary perch for Murphy out of kindling and a coat hanger, Mr. Wonderful rubbed one hand absently through his still-mussed hair. “So, shall I show you and Murphy to the guest room?”
 
I had to admit, I was touched by his thoughtfulness. Mr. Wonderful liked animals. He didn’t only eat them.
 
“And tomorrow, I’ll even make you breakfast,” he promised with a wink.
 
Visions of half-raw bacon and bloody sausage danced in my head. “Oh, that won’t be necessary,” I interjected hastily. “You’ve already done more than enough, taking us in for the night!”
 
“I’ve got this great new recipe for scrambled tofu I’ve been dying to try,” he continued, clicking on the light in the guest room and settling Murphy’s temporary perch atop the bureau.
 
My brow wrinkled in confusion. “You? The Carnivore King? Eating tofu? What on earth convinced you to try that?”
 
His face morphed into a warm smile. “Something I read on a sign recently — plant power sounded good.”
 
“Really?” I looked at him in surprise.
 
“Yeah,” he nodded, a slow grin warming his features. “Never thought I’d care for the stuff, but turns out it’s pretty good.”
 
I could feel my heart melting. This guy took in stray neighbors in the middle of the night. Murphy was smitten. And on top of it all, he actually liked tofu?
 
I was obviously going to have to come up with an entirely new name for Mr. Wonderful. Or maybe, just maybe, the name fit a whole lot better than I could possibly have imagined.